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Being attached at the hip to a dozen of the most dramatic bastards ever to grace this earth should allow you fade into the background now and then. Discreetly leave when John and Uncle start their morning argument, avoid a turn at karaoke, skip a Senator’s Halloween party full of the city’s snooty elite. But Dutch has insisted, “Every one of us needs to attend this party, every one of us.” He’s sure Dutch has his reasons, he’s just not so sure they’re good ones, anymore.
So here he is, haunting the most out of the way punch table, dressed in a cobbled together wolf costume because Karen wanted to be Red Riding Hood. The party is spectacular, guests dressed in their finery attempting to dazzle with beauty or impress with their humour. He’s looking the other way, out of the mansion’s wide pined lined window onto an endless manicured lawn. Oregon’s mountains are just visible in the distance, and he’s wondering how long it would take to walk it when a stag strides into view. It’s far too close to the building, close enough he can see the fine hair shine in the outdoor lights, count the ridges on its antlers. It turns its head, and looks right at him.
There’s a flash behind him. The deer hops, and sprints away.
“Oh, come on.” He had hoped his posture was forbidding enough to stop stuff like this.
He turns to the intruder behind him. A man about his age, but younger looking, with neat brown hair and an apologetic smile. He holds an expensive but worn camera aloft like it’s an explanation. “Sorry about that. I was taking a picture of the deer, not you. Magnificent animal. Not that your costume isn’t quite magnificent too.”
“Am I in shot?” The photo won’t show his face, but he had his mask down and Dutch had insisted on masks for a reason. Besides… “Aren’t you supposed to ask?” He’s noticed this man earlier, taking pictures of assembled groups of partygoers for some publication, and been careful to avoid him.
“Yes, I am sorry, but I couldn’t resist… here I’ll show you why. Take a look at this.” The man steps forward and holds up the camera for Arthur to see. It does make a nice picture. There’s the beauty of the deer, staring straight at him, outlined against the dark blue sky and silver mountains, and the contrast of the half-destroyed buffet table in the foreground, the rich parted drapes. Unfortunately, there he is, at the side. But even he can’t ruin the picture, with all the fur wrapped around him he looks like some kind of mountain man, staring out at the deer, ready to follow it home. “Beautiful isn’t it?”
“Very pretty. Delete it.”
The man nods, with a smile that’s hiding a lot of things. Arthur turns away. Lucky he does. Micah is heading over, dressed as Jared Leto’s Joker. He can do his good deed for the night, save this man from ever meeting him.
The night wears on. Arthur drinks enough to keep it bearable, and even makes a little small talk, occasionally. Every so often he’ll see the photographer, making his way around the party, smiling at strangers and asking them to pose. He wonders if the man’s enjoying himself. He doesn’t think so. He has a job to do, like him. But he didn’t have to take that photo. He wonders if he’s deleted it. He thinks maybe after a few more drinks he’ll seek him out, tell him he doesn’t mind too much if he hasn’t, if he wants to keep it. Maybe even ask if he can have a copy himself.